Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 91961 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 460(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91961 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 460(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
That feeling I’ve been carrying around all day, that was improved just by the exercises we worked on together, lets up that much more.
And I also don’t feel like such a waste—like I’m just sucking the life out of him and not offering anything in return.
“Well, when you put it that way, no, not bad at all,” I say.
He runs his thumb down the side of my face. “Ev, you’re such a beautiful person, and even when this happens, I still see that guy who you really are, even when you can’t. Maybe it’s not always perfect, and you can’t bounce around in puppy play every night, but who in this goddamn world has it perfect all the time?”
I curl into him and nuzzle against his chest, appreciating how I’m able to rest in his lap and stay close to him like this.
“Thank you, Frankie. You can go out now, though, if you want. I’ll be fine.”
I feel his fingers on my chin, and he lifts my head so that I’m forced to look into his eyes. “Why would I want to go out when we could be catching up on some delicious Netflix series and ordering even more delicious Chinese food?”
He can’t know how much him saying that means to me.
He moves close to me, offering a kiss.
It’s a warm, gentle kiss, but still has a way of igniting that spark that Frankie has the power of forcing to rise within me when we’re about to work something up in the bedroom.
It can’t take away what I’m feeling, but at least he’s reminded me of what is the most important thing: it’ll pass, and soon, I’ll be back to Pup Runt.
I’m so fucking lucky to have Frankie in my life.
This whole night has reminded me of how important his friendship is. I love the other stuff we’re doing, but as he said, friendship before fucking—because I don’t ever want to lose this. No amount of hot-as-fuck sex, intense and powerful as it is, is worth losing what we share.
Because this…being in his arms, feeling safe next to him, means so much more to me.
22
Frankie
“Frankie…oh God, Frankie! Harder! Push it in harder!”
At the sound of Derek’s voice behind me, I smile, and stop fumbling with the key in the mailbox. “It gets stuck. It doesn’t fit well.”
“I bet that’s what Evan says when you try to put what all the bottoms at the Midtown Flex say is a pretty big dick inside his itty-bitty hole. Not as big as Jackson’s, of course, and he’s not as tight as me, but you know what I mean.”
“That’s not what I heard about you.” Making a fist, I push it forward, mimicking fisting.
“You wish, and are you kink-shaming? I never would have thought.”
An image of Evan on all fours, his hood on and a tail between his ass cheeks flashes in my mind. “No…definitely not. No kink-shaming here.”
“I notice you didn’t deny that Evan would know what your cock feels like. Finally making an honest bottom out of him.”
I can’t help but chuckle at Derek’s humor. It’s crazy how perfect for Jackson he is, considering they’re so different. “Mind your own business before I tell your daddy on you.” I wink.
“What? So he’ll spank me? Not a threat.” Bottom Boy, as the crew has dubbed him, blows a kiss at me and walks away.
There’s still a smile on my face as I finally work the key into the lock and open the box. Once I have the mail, I flip through it as I head toward the elevator.
The grin slides off my face, my stomach automatically dropping to my feet. My hand shakes as I hold the letter between my fingers.
Tim Johnson.
San Bernardino, California—back home where he ran to when he was released from prison.
He wrote me. The motherfucker wrote me. What the hell could he be thinking? Does my biological father really think I want to hear from him? That after all this fucking time, I give a shit about him? He severed each and every one of those ties when he put his hands on my mom over and over again. When she hurt as I hid in the closet, tears streaming down my face as I called 911.
My instinct is to crumple it up and set the motherfucker on fire, but instead I take a few deep breaths, pushing one foot in front of the other until I get to the elevator and the doors slide open. I don’t give a fuck about him. I haven’t for a long-ass time and I don’t plan to start now. Whatever he has to say doesn’t matter.
Trying to ignore what suddenly feels like a ten-pound envelope, I continue to make my way upstairs. It doesn’t matter. He doesn’t fucking matter, whispers quietly in my head, but I try to ignore that too.